


Taste of Ashes

by VanillaMostly



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Headcanon, Mother-Son Relationship, POV Minor Character, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanillaMostly/pseuds/VanillaMostly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Queen Rhaella was ever the observer, yet she still missed so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taste of Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> Fascinated with this woman and what she could've been thinking during the whole Harrenhal fiasco.  
> Disclaimer: do not own.

 

276 AL

Rhaegar was a shining, handsome prince on his seventeenth name day. She could not help tearing up just a little bit, watching him at his harp, long graceful fingers plucking each note, entire audience enraptured. Every mother prayed only for their son to grow to be a fine man, healthy and wise and good. Rhaella's prayers had been answered most soundly.

All except for one.

Her eldest son still needed a wife.

Secretly, Rhaella was relieved that with Viserys she had given a brother, not a sister-bride, to Rhaegar. She could not forget her wedding day those many years ago. Rhaegar, Rhaella was determined, would marry for love if Rhaella had to kill Aerys for it (she was not at all frightened such a thought crossed her mind. Her children were her world).

However, Rhaegar had yet to love a woman. He never said so explicitly, but Rhaella knew from simply watching him. Day in and day out, that strange boy seemed to only have eyes for his harp and his books - and perhaps his lance occasionally, though even that was more out of duty than anything. Countless pretty young ladies at court, and Rhaegar never once turned his head. Even a whore would have been acceptable, but her son remained like Baelor the Blessed reincarnate. Rhaella was starting to worry about misjudging her son's interests. He  _was_ awfully close with that boy from Griffith's Roost.

Aerys, meanwhile, sent men across the seas to pick a bride for their son, but moons and moons waxed by and not a name left Aerys's lips. Rhaella wondered what game her brother was playing at. Or was he just a petulant child picking through his plate?

Then Tywin Lannister asked to speak with Aerys alone at the tourney in Casterly Rock, and it all made sense.

Cersei Lannister was still young but already an exquisite little lioness. Her green eyes showed strong wit, much like Joanna's had. But of course, that was where the Hand's plan was doomed before it started. Rhaella shook her head as she watched Tywin return to the feast, face livid. Lord Lannister, you dug your grave when you wed the lovely Joanna, thought Rhaella. 

She really was sorry it didn't work. She would have liked to have Cersei as a good-daughter, so that Joanna and she could truly be sisters - but Joanna had passed away already from the birth of her second boy, so perhaps all of it would have been moot.

Suddenly, Rhaella realized she couldn't sit back any longer. She had just witnessed Aerys throw away a perfectly good chance for their son's happiness over a jealousy feud. She would not let Aerys's stupidity risk her son's future a second time.

"I fear you are going about this the wrong way," she told the king, one night. "Cersei Lannister... princesses in Essos... they may be beautiful but they are not blood of the dragon."

"Whose fault is it that?" Aerys spat. "Seventeen years since Rhaegar and not a single girl lived from your cunt."

Rhaella kept her voice calm. "Targaryens are not the only ones with blood of the dragon."

Aerys raised his head, and Rhaella knew she had him.

A fortnight later, the king announced Rhaegar's betrothal to Elia Martell of Dorne.

Elia's mother was no Joanna, but Rhaenys had liked her nonetheless when she had been at court. Dancing black eyes, warm skin and vibrant laughter. It could do well to thaw some of Rhaegar's melancholy, thought Rhaella. Even Aerys might appreciate the Dornish blunt humor and sharp tongue.

**

When Rhaella saw Elia Martell, however, she began to think if her meddling had been right, after all.

It was not that Rhaella didn't like Elia. On the contrary, she did at first glance. The young woman was slight-framed, hips just as narrow as Rhaella's own, and easily short of breath, but she had a certain unique charm. Her eyes were not emerald gems like the Lannister girl but deep-set, dark, and tilted at the corners. They were most striking on a soft heart-shaped face, and Rhaella was sure she did not imagine the hint of playful mischief behind the mask of courtesy. Rhaella also approved of the way Elia held herself- not an ounce of self-pity, but none of the arrogance Cersei had, either.

But as Rhaella watched her son approach his betrothed, coolly kissing the back of Elia's hand, Rhaella's heart sank.

She knew her son. Rhaegar did not see what she saw. He did not see past the weak body.

And dear Elia... whatever sparkle in her liquid-black eyes flickered as she stared into Rhaegar's sad, sad purple ones. So briefly that Rhaella doubted anyone else saw, but it was there.

She is as much disappointed in him as he is in her, Rhaella realized.

Well, Rhaella thought, they are still young and this is their first meeting. Given time, they would warm to each other. Over dinner, when Rhaella witnessed Rhaegar actually smile at something Elia quipped - Rhaella relaxed. Yes, they would. They were both good children and neither had known love yet. Passion would be something they would learn, together. It would not be like Rhaella and Aerys repeated.

* * *

 

 281 AL

Word traveled fast. It reached her while Aerys, Rhaegar and Elia were still on the kingsroad. When she heard the story of Rhaegar placing the crown of blue roses in Lyanna Stark's lap, Rhaella shut her eyes. She was horrified, she was embarrassed for her son's sake, but she could not say she was shocked.

In this way she had failed her son and good-daughter.

At first, it had seemed like everything would be as Rhaella dreamed. Rhaegar was smiling more, and so gentle to his bride. As for Elia, Rhaella took a better liking to her the more she got to know her. Elia was a natural storyteller, deft with her delicate hands, caring and clever, always knowing what to say to even placate Aerys when his temper flared. She told Rhaella it came from years of practice as sister to the Red Viper.

Elia would make a great mother, Rhaella already knew.

And for a while there it _was_ so perfect, when not a year after the wedding, Elia conceived. The gods were good: no miscarriage and no problems up to the day Elia's birthing pains kicked in.

Rhaella still remembered how hot and stifling the chamber had been, despite winter sitting on their doorstep... shrieks rang throughout the Red Keep, handmaidens and maesters rushed in and out, and enough tension and misery to last a lifetime as hours stretched into more hours.

Two long days of labor came down to one little thing, squirming feebly - a girl.

Rhaegar stared long and hard at his daughter. For the first time ever, Rhaella could not read her son's expression and this scared her. It was only when she touched him on the arm that he jerked around, and smiled.

"Her name will be Rhaenys," he said.

Like Aegon the Conquerer's sister. Rhaella smiled back and focused on baby Rhaenys's face - she breathed, and she was normal, small or not, heir or not - and soon forgot her moment of unease.

Then, things started to change.

Aerys was one of them. All along he had been prone to irritation and bursts of anger. Now was different. Now he was not only moody but unstable, uncontrollable, and strange. He locked himself in his chamber for weeks at length. He muttered "they will burn" under his breath whenever he came out. Rhaella thought it was just that the tryst at Duskendale had given him a fright; she expected his erratic behavior to abide sooner or later. It did not.

The first time the burning happened, Rhaella had been safe in Maegor's Holdfast, reading to Viserys. By the time she heard, the corpse was crisp black ashes. That night, Aerys came to her room silent as a shadow, summoned one of his white-cloaks to lock the doors, and looked at her. One look and Rhaella knew.

She learned to dread the smell of ashes from then on.

In retrospect, Rhaella knew if she had not been so distracted by her own troubles, she would have seen clearly the more subtle change in Rhaegar.

But as it was, she only noticed that night right before they all left for Harrenhal. Most of the castle was asleep but Rhaella was out taking a walk in the courtyard, the weather finally warm enough to allow it. She couldn't sleep well these nights, often dreaming of Aerys and his mad eyes. Deep in thought, it took her a while to hear the sound of the harp. Looking up she saw Rhaegar sitting on the balcony under the moon. He looked so beautiful he was surreal.

A lump rose in Rhaella's throat. Her son had also never looked so lonely.

**

As soon as the royal retinue returned, the princess barricaded herself with only her friend Ashara for company. Rhaegar hovered at the door awkwardly. His face flooded with relief when he saw Rhaella approaching. "Mother, I..."

Rhaella suppressed a sigh. "Leave her be for now. Come and walk with me." Ser Oswell took a step forward. "Alone, please," she told the knight pointedly.

"Your Grace, I cannot-"

"My son is as good with a sword as you are, ser, if not better. Surely you trust the crown prince to protect me for a half hour."

He had nothing to say after that, so Rhaella took Rhaegar by the arm and led the way to the Godswood. Rhaegar glanced at her in surprise, but did not object. He had at least enough sense left to understand her meaning: do not speak here unless you want to feed the court more scandal than you have already.

Within the cover of the trees, Rhaella could finally turn on her son and ask, "Why?"

Rhaegar's guilt was like a little boy's. "I never meant to insult anyone," he said. "I just wanted... Mother, she deserved a crown, she was so brave, the truest champion of us all."

Rhaella frowned. This was not the explanation she had expected. "Slow down," she said, more softly this time, "and start from the beginning."

In quiet whispers Rhaegar told her the story. Rhaella listened. An image of Lyanna Stark formed in her mind: wild hair, wilder laugh, streaking past on a horse, a she-wolf of the north. Taking up a man's armor to joust in a tourney. Defender of the weak. A maid of only fourteen.

She watched Rhaegar as he spoke, his deep purple eyes looking far-away as usual, but this time instead of a haunted grief, there was an emotion of another kind.

For once, it was not Summerhall that preoccupied Rhaegar.

When he was done, Rhaella reached over and took his hand in hers. My baby, she thought, what have you brought on yourself?

"You won't tell Father, will you?" asked Rhaegar. "You should have seen him. He wanted her head."

She looked into the fear in his eyes - fear for another, a girl he met barely a week ago. Where was Lyanna five years ago? Rhaella thought sadly. "I won't," she promised Rhaegar. If your father knew he would not just behead her, she added silently, he would burn her. And perhaps even you, too, for lying to him.

Rhaegar smiled at her, a genuine smile. Rhaella had not seen it for... a while. "I will make Elia see, Mother," he said firmly. "It is just a misunderstanding."

He does not realize it yet, she thought. Her mouth tasted of ashes.

* * *

 

282 AL

Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of His Name, he would be called. "He is beautiful," Rhaella said, gently rocking the sleeping grandson in her arms. "You did great, my dear Elia."

On her bed, Elia was quiet, her eyelids closed. Rhaella considered stepping out and leaving the princess to much-needed rest, but then Elia spoke, her eyes still closed but her voice rather strong. "Did I, now?"

The bitterness was jarring coming from sweet, airy Elia and it broke Rhaella's heart to pieces.

"Of course you did," said Rhaella, sitting down next to her. "You fought tooth and nail to give the Seven Kingdoms an heir, and he is here. You are here."

"But I might as well not be."

Rhaella's patience was running short. "I wager you are not, indeed. The Elia I know would never say nonsense like this. What is the matter with you?"

The princess opened her eyes, staring up at Rhaella with such empty despair Rhaella would have preferred it if she had cried. "I can't have another child, Your Grace," Elia whispered. "The maesters said so."

I know, thought Rhaella. Most of the court knows. But she didn't have the heart to tell Elia that.

"You don't need to," Rhaella said instead. "You've given Rhaegar a boy and a girl. Aegon has a sister to wed. That is much better than I have done, you know that."

Elia bit her lip. "I'm sorry. You are right." She turned her head to the side. "But..." she paused.

"But?"

"Rhaegar said there must be one more. The dragon has three heads."

Three heads... Rhaella suddenly remembered the birth of Rhaenys, Rhaegar standing there, a look on his face that had made Rhaella uneasy. Rhaenys, Aegon... Just missing a Visenya.

Oh, gods.

"Your Grace?"

Rhaella turned to Elia, handing back Aegon. She leaned over to give Elia a kiss on her forehead. "Listen closely, my child. Men can be foolish. I am proud of you, and so is Rhaenys and her new little brother. I don't care what Rhaegar said - and you should not either."

A smile tugged at Elia's lips, and life came back to her face again. "You know, Your Grace, my mother by blood may be far away but I have never felt motherless here, thanks to you. I do mean it. You are a good mother."

Rhaella squeezed Elia's hand. For a moment she couldn't speak. At last she managed, "You are kind to say so."

Because it isn't true.

**

She found her son in the library - where else? Only an oil lamp was lit as he sat poring over scrolls and scrolls. He was alone; that was no surprise. Long ago, by silent agreement, the whole keep had labeled the library "Rhaegar's second bedroom." Rhaella left her escorts outside, shutting the doors behind her so that it was just her and Rhaegar.

He looked up from his scroll, blinking, not quite seeing Rhaella yet. It took a few moments for him to fully leave what he had been reading; he was that focused and always had been. When he had been young, Rhaella had laughed at that, smoothed his hair and said if he was not careful, he might never return to the present world. How was she to know how true those words would prove one day?

"Mother," he said, confusion creasing his brows. No wonder. He had instructed Ser Arthur against visitors, not knowing one of them would be the queen. Alarm crossed his face as Rhaella sat down. "Is it Father?"

Rhaella shook her head. He never realizes it is about him, she thought. An easy mistake. She had made it too. Madness of an extreme can overshadow so much and blind so many.

His confusion deepened. "Then..."

"You have barely left this table for days. Never mind if you deny yourself food and sleep, but shall I remind you that you have a wife in her sickbed and a four-year-old daughter asking for her father." Rhaella could not mask her anger any longer. Her son's pale cheeks colored but she pushed on. "Pray tell what is so fascinating in your scrolls that you forget common sense. Does it have anything to do with a prophecy, I wonder, or several of them?"

He did not answer, and would not look at her.

Fine, thought Rhaella, then I will talk. "Let me tell you a familiar story, Rhaegar. When I was much younger than you are, your grandfather Jaeherys betrothed me to my brother, despite knowing very well Aerys and I have never gotten along, even as children. Besides, I loved another in those days, and Aerys... desired another. My father doted on me well and always put my happiness first, but in this one matter he would not relent. Why is that? Because of a prophecy, told by some woods witch, insisting a savior prince was to be born from _our line_."

"The prince that was promised," said Rhaegar.

"You would know," she said coldly.

"But Mother, what the woods witch said is true... that prince, born under a bleeding star... Aegon is the prince from the prophecy, I am certain of it."

"Rhaegar, prophecies are merely words beneathe their glamor. Words are wind. They blow whichever way they want to. You cannot trust them."

Her son met her gaze this time, and the intensity in them struck her frozen. "You don't understand. Mother, I do not just think these words speak the truth, I _feel_ it. I have felt it for as long as I can remember..." He gripped the edge of the table, knuckles turning white. "Winter and darkness," he said so softly Rhaella almost did not catch it.

All her anger left her, then, and in its place was despair. Summerhall, she thought, souls of my fathers, mothers, sisters and brothers, our dragons and our blood... You grieve, you have lost and fallen, but give me back my son.

However, it was too late.

"A cold night is coming, Mother, and when it does all children, women, men, and any creature that breathes, will suffer. The only one who can save us is the prince that was promised." His face grew somber and unbiddingly, Rhaella thought of the north. "Mother, I was born to feel this darkness for a reason. I used to think it was because I was this prince, but now I know better. It is my son, and my duty is to guide him on his path to greatness."

No, no, no, thought Rhaella. Your duty is to live a simple life, laugh and sing, grow old and happy with grandchildren around you and the smallfolk chanting your name.

Tears leaked from her eyes before she knew it.

"Oh, Mother," said Rhaegar, getting it all wrong as he wrapped her in his arms, "all will be well. I shall see to it."

The determination in his last phrase made her cry harder.

**

Word traveled fast. When Rhaella heard of Rhaegar disappearing with Lyanna Stark to somewhere out of reach, Rhaella could not say she was shocked. Her son had long been out of her reach. Then or now, it made no difference.

 

 


End file.
